


Drop in and Say Hello

by Hazel_Athena



Series: Mag7Week [3]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Meet-Cute, Unexpected Visitors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-12-26 07:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12054420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazel_Athena/pseuds/Hazel_Athena
Summary: "Evening, guero," he says, aiming for nonthreatening as best as he's able. "I promise this is not what it looks like."





	Drop in and Say Hello

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kat2107](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat2107/gifts).



> Written for the "Unexpected" prompt in Mag7Week, and dedicated to Kat2107 who came up with the idea.

The op is a bust, Vasquez thinks grimly. He doesn't know what it was that tipped Alberts off, but the man had successfully fingered him as a cop and then managed to put a bullet in his arm while Vasquez had been staging a tactical retreat. It's a through and through in his left bicep, the kind that shouldn't cause any lasting damage if he gets proper medical treatment, but that right now is unfortunately looking like a big if.

Tucked in behind a couple of dumpsters lining a street in a seedier part of town, Vasquez hastily tears a strip off the shirt he's wearing to fashion it into a make shift bandage. Not only does he not feel like bleeding to death tonight, but he's managed to shake Alberts and his goons for the time being, and he doesn't want to accidentally leave them a blood trail to follow. The wound hurts like hell as he wraps the makeshift tourniquet around it, but at least he's alive to feel the pain. That's about the best thing he can say regarding his situation.

"And the day started off so well." Fighting the urge to groan, Vasquez lets his head fall back against the brick wall behind him, hunkering down further into the shadows as he waits to see if pursuit is still coming.

The day had started off well though. First he'd arrived at work and for once Goodnight, who'd been running late, hadn't stolen his favourite parking spot. Then he'd gotten the news that they were sending him in to move on Alberts tonight because they finally felt there was enough evidence to do so. After that he'd gone to pick up his usual caffeine fix and come face to face with a brand new barista at his usual cafe haunt who not only got his order right the first time, but the tall, muscular and _very_ attractive redhead had winked at him as he'd handed the cup over. Vasquez makes it a point not to flirt with people in the customer service industry, as it's their job to be nice to him, but there'd been such a look of approval in the other man's eye that he thinks he can be forgiven for responding in kind if only this once.

"Just my luck," Vasquez sighs. "I'm probably going to wind up hospitalized from blood loss - if I'm lucky - and by the time I get out he'll have quit or moved or found somebody else who doesn't mistime a dive and wind up getting shot for his troubles."

Shifting uncomfortably, he forces himself to take several calming breaths, and then proceeds to strain his ears for the sound of pursuit. Much to his annoyance, he thinks he hears it. "Maldita," he grumbles under his breath, "the stupid bastards couldn't at least have the decency to leave me alone after they shot me. Drug dealers - no respect."

Mildly concerned that his injury is beginning to affect his coherency, Vasquez focuses on a nearby fire escape, one that leads up to a partially open apartment window. He'd noticed it when he'd first stumbled into the area, the pain in his arm forcing him to duck for cover rather than keep moving, and he thinks now as he had then that it might be his best chance of escape.

"That's the blood loss talking," a voice that sounds remarkably like Sam's says in his head. "Please don't tell me you actually think this is a good idea."

Since it's essentially his only idea, Vasquez elects to ignore the voice, and heads for the fire escape instead. It's old, to the point that it's clearly seen better days, but it holds his not inconsiderable weight as he steps onto it. He hears footsteps ringing in the distance, raised voices accompanying them, and so he picks up the pace as he climbs.

There's no light on in the apartment living room, although that doesn't necessarily mean the owner is out, and the window sticks a bit when he forces it up one handed. Trying his best to be quiet, Vasquez shifts the window up until he has just enough room to squirm inside.

The apartment is fairly small, and at some point since taking ownership, the occupant had made the decision to push his or her couch right in front of the window. Vasquez isn't expecting this, and he winds up stumbling when his foot sinks into faux leather cushioning as he clears the threshold. Thrown off balance, he flails a little, the motion painfully jarring his bad arm, and the next thing he knows he's on his back on the scratchy living room carpet. Beginning to chastise himself in his own thoughts, it takes him a moment to recognize the new sound that's now started up.

Craning his neck to the side, Vasquez spots what must be the entrance to the kitchen, and his heart lurches at the sight of what's lurking there. The noise is low, a deep angry rumble emitting from the chest cavity of the gigantic dog that's now glaring down at him with its hackles raised. It's of no discernible breed that Vasquez can tell, a true patchwork of a number of dogs put together, but it's big, muscular and has plenty of teeth on display.

"Shit," Vasquez says succinctly. Sitting up slowly so as not to spook the animal further, he raises a hand protectively, for all the good that will do if the dog decides it wants to charge. He has his gun on him if things get really desperate, but even that seems like a terrible idea. "Nice puppy," he says softly. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I only needed a place to hide for a moment. I'm going to be on my way now."

Unfortunately, the dog is between him and the front door, and the fire escape is not an option since it'll put him right back out on the street Alberts' men are casing. If he's going to get out of this, he needs the dog to back off.

Salvation, for a weak definition of the word given his current circumstances, arrives a few seconds later when the dog's snarling increases in volume. There's a sudden sound of footsteps, and then light streams in from what must be the bedroom as the apartment owner pokes his head out.

"Jack, buddy, I told you we'll go for a walk as soon as I finish this section. Until then - holy shit!" Finally spotting Vasquez in the poor lighting of the living room, the man tenses up and then reaches over to slap on a light switch to better illuminate what's happening in his home.

Unable to help himself, Vasquez snaps his eyes closed against the glare, momentarily blinded. He can't even use his good hand to rub at them because it's clamped around his wounded arm, which has now bled through his makeshift bandage and is streaming over his fingers.

"Huh," says the apartment owner. "I can honestly say I wasn't planning on company tonight. Do you do this every time someone flirts with you, or am I a special case?"

Belatedly recognizing the voice, Vasquez forces his eyes open, and finds the red headed barista from this morning peering down at him, looking far less approachable than he had previously. His hands are held loosely at his sides, giving him the ability to swing quickly if he needs to, and his expression is guarded to say the least. Vasquez groans.

"Evening, guero," he says, aiming for nonthreatening as best as he's able. "I promise this is not what it looks like."

The other man snorts. "It doesn't look like anything other than crazy. Did you seriously follow me home, you fucking stalker?"

"No no," Vasquez rushes to say. He's half afraid he's going to wind up with the still-growling dog set on him if he's not careful. "I had no idea this was your place when I came in, I swear. I just needed somewhere to hide."

"Yeah, I hope you realize that explanation isn't actually better," he's informed. "What exactly are you hiding from?"

"Drug pushers," Vasquez says promptly, and then because he belatedly clues into how bad that sounds, "Cop, I'm a cop. I was working an operation that didn't end well. I've got my badge on me if you don't believe me."

The man cocks his head to the side, a few auburn curls falling in front of his eyes as a result of the motion. Vasquez feels an absurd urge to brush them away. That's probably the blood loss talking.

"Show me," the man says, and it takes Vasquez a moment to figure out he means the badge.

Shifting his good hand, which is now slick with blood, Vasquez fumbles inside his coat until he feels the familiar ridges of his badge. Pulling it out, he lobs it at the man's feet, and then wraps his hand over the wound again, hoping that'll be enough to satisfy his new friend because he definitely needs a doctor at this point.

Slowly, and with his eyes never leaving Vasquez, the man crouches down to pick up the badge. Turning it over in his hands, he frowns. "That is the precinct number not far away from the cafe," he admits almost grudgingly, "and you," he adds darkly, glaring at the red droplets now covering his own fingers, "are bleeding all over my carpet."

If not for the necessity of staunching the blood flow, Vasquez would consider waving airily. Instead, he grits his teeth against the pain and tries not to move too much. "If you'd be kind enough to call me a cab, I'll get out of your way. I'd do it myself, but I'm not sure I can operate the phone as I am."

The man flips Vasquez's badge over in his hands a few times, before seemingly coming to a decision. Dropping the badge down on a nearby bookcase, he turns on his heel and heads for the room that must be the bathroom since all other possible choices have been ruled out. 

"Quiet, Jack," he says as he goes, and the consistent angry rumble his dog has been making immediately ceases.

Confused, Vasquez watches everything unfold, feeling his eyebrows rise of their own accord when the man reappears with a large first aid kit in his hands. It's much bigger than those most houses would carry, and Vasquez can't help the curious noise he lets out.

Following Vasquez's gaze, the man grins. "As it happens, I did a tour in the military to help with some school related expenses, and today's your lucky day. I wound up being trained as a field medic while I was in." 

"You're joking," Vasquez says. He can only engage in a suspension of disbelief for so long, and this is getting ridiculous.

"I'm really not," the man tells him, grin widening, "Joshua Faraday, at your service."

As pleased as he is to have a name to call his companion by, Vasquez still can't believe what's happening tonight. However, Faraday doesn't seem to care what Vasquez feels. He simply sets the kit on his small, two person table, and pops the lid. Giving it a once over, he seems to be satisfied with what he sees, and turns his attention back to Vasquez.

"Okay," he says, coming over and offering Vasquez his hand. "Up we get, big guy. Let me take a look at this mess."

His mind still reeling from this change in circumstances, Vasquez tentatively reaches up and lets Faraday drag him to his feet, hissing when his bad arm once again gets jarred. 

"Easy," Faraday says at the sound. "That looks like it hurts like a motherfucker, but I swear I know what I'm doing here."

He hustles Vasquez over to the table, indicating he should take one of the two available seats as he shoves an inquisitive Jack out of the way with one foot. "Don't mind him," he says, following Vasquez's gaze to where the dog is now flopped down in the kitchen, still watching the proceedings warily. "He's an old softy, honest."

"His teeth look like they could crush bone," Vasquez says dubiously. He likes dogs well enough himself, but he prefers to avoid those that have murder in their eyes.

Faraday shrugs nonchalantly. "They probably could, but he wouldn't do that unless I told him to or he was provoked, so just behave yourself and we won't have a problem. Now, hold out your arm and let me see what I'm doing here."

As soon as Vasquez complies, still marvelling at the turn of events his evening has taken, Faraday rolls the blood stained sleeve back as far as it'll go, hooking it up over Vasquez's shoulder, and letting out a low whistle. "Damn but that looks nasty."

He leans in for a closer look, frowning thoughtfully. "Well, the good news is that it's a through and through, so I won't have to go fishing for the bullet."

"And the bad news?" Vasquez grits out.

Faraday flashes him the grin of a born shit disturber. "Your shirt is absolutely ruined."

Vasquez snorts, instantly regretting the action when it causes his arm to move. "Don't make me laugh, guero. I'm in enough pain as it is."

"Yeah," Faraday says his expression sobering. "The actual bad news is there's not too much I can do about that. I don't carry the kind of drugs that would help."

"Good," Vasquez decides after a moment of thinking this over. "I'd hate to have to arrest you for possession of controlled substances."

Rolling his eyes, Faraday reaches for a few items out of his kit. "Very funny. Now hold still and let me clean you up before I stitch everything back together."

They both fall silent then, the only sounds in the apartment the occasional pained hisses that Vasquez can't hold back, each of which is inevitably followed by soothing noises from Faraday. Finally however, Vasquez can't stand the quiet any longer.

"So," he says slowly, trying his best not to look at the needle Faraday's just removed from the first aid kit. "How does an army field medic end up working in a cafe?"

"I don't work there," Faraday says, laughing when Vasquez stares at him in confusion. "The owner is a friend of mine. She had a minor emergency this morning, her cat needed to be rushed to the vet, and her husband couldn't take him. She asked me if I could hold down the fort while she was gone. Must've done okay if I fooled you."

"It was six o'clock in the morning, and you handed me a cup of coffee," Vasquez says. "I need nothing more than that to be made happy."

Faraday smirks at him from where he's threading the needle. "Ah well, at least I'll have proof I had one satisfied customer. You can pay me back for the needlework by telling Emma that."

Any quip Vasquez might make here gets shoved aside when Faraday slips the needle into his skin and starts to lay the first stitch. "Maldita," he spits. He's willing to admit the needle hurts less than the bullet had, but it's still far from pleasant. "Why didn't I go to the hospital again?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Faraday replies. "Although, considering how you decided to evade a bunch of criminals by breaking into my home, I'm a little worried about your decision making skills."

"I was thinking on my feet, making the best of a bad situation." Vasquez mutters. "And since I didn't wind up horribly murdered by said criminals, I think I did fine."

"My dog almost ate you," Faraday points out.

"I knew he wasn't as nice as you were pretending," Vasquez shoots back. 

"Mhm. Be nice to the man sticking sharp objects in you, big guy. I can make this a whole lot worse for you if I try." 

While Vasquez has been injured in the line of duty enough times to know this, he's equally aware that what Faraday's just said is nothing but hot air. The man's touch remains gentle, doing what he can to reduce the pain, and by the time he's done Vasquez has two neat rows of stitches over the spots where the bullet had entered and excited. 

"There we go," Faraday says. Laying the needle down where he'll be able to take it for cleaning, he rolls up the remainder of the thread he didn't end up using, returning it to its proper place in the kit. Then he picks up a roll of gauze and begins wrapping it over his work.

"You should probably still drag your ass to a hospital," he remarks, curling the gauze over Vasquez's bicep as he goes. "Training or no training, I'm not a doctor, but this should do you for a while."

"It's good," Vasquez assures him. He flexes his arm tentatively. The whole thing still hurts like a son of a bitch, but at least he's not bleeding all over the place anymore. Potential blood loss was probably his biggest problem when the injury had first happened. "You do great work, guero." He gives Faraday a lopsided grin. "Sorry for so spectacularly interrupting your evening."

Faraday shrugs as he packs up the first aid kit. "Given the choice between spending hours glaring at my thesis or rescuing handsome men who've just fallen through my living room window, I can tell you which one I prefer."

Vasquez feels a little thrill go through him at the use of the word handsome, but he keeps quiet as Faraday wanders out of the room to put the first aid kit back where he'd found it. When the man reappears, he asks, "What's your thesis on?"

"Statistical probabilities and the analysis thereof," is the reply, and Faraday grins when Vasquez makes a face. "Mainly I chose it because it was a good excuse to play a lot of poker."

"I see," Vasquez replies. Truth be told it doesn't sound all that exciting to him, but he's hardly about to insult a man who's gone so far above and beyond the call of duty for him. Especially not when he has the feeling that if he plays his cards right he might be able to walk out of here with a bit more than a fun story to tell.

Silence descends briefly, but is quickly broken by Faraday. "I wasn't joking when I said you should still get that arm checked out. I can drive you to the hospital if you like."

"No, guero," Vasquez protests. "You've done enough."

Faraday shrugs. "Hey, my Ma always told me a job's only worth doing if you do it right. 'Course, I've ignored that advice more than I've followed it. Still," he adds hastily, "I wouldn't mind following through on this one."

Since he knows Faraday's right, and also because he doesn't much relish the thought of trying to get to the nearest hospital on his own, Vasquez nods. "Alright," he decides, "but you have to find some way to let me make it up to you."

Already reaching for his car keys, Faraday grins. "Maybe you can buy me dinner once you're back on your feet."

Mildly concerned that he's stumbled over a crazy person - Faraday's reactions so far tonight have not exactly been the norm - Vasquez nevertheless feels a rush of satisfaction at these words. He matches Faraday's grin with one of his own. "Okay, guero. You've got a deal."

*****

Several months later after he's healed, back on active duty, and his boss has stopped snarling at him for things like 'taking unnecessary risks' and 'making highly questionable decisions, my god Alejandro, what were you thinking? I don't care that you somehow got a boyfriend out of it', Vasquez decides that he's pretty content with how things have played out.


End file.
